


i can lose everything but you

by RavenWhitecastle



Series: The Sinner and the Saint [7]
Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fire, M/M, Presumed Dead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-05
Updated: 2018-05-05
Packaged: 2019-05-02 08:09:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14540424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RavenWhitecastle/pseuds/RavenWhitecastle
Summary: John has reason to believe Harold's dead. He doesn't know what to do with that information- all he knows is he can't go on if it's true.





	i can lose everything but you

John had never expected things to go downhill so quickly. Harold had come to keep an extra set of eyes on a number. He was posing as an accountant John was heading up to the office to pose as his client. And then all at once, the number had showed up at the office with a bomb vest and a list of demands.

One moment, Harold was whispering urgently in John’s ear as John raced up the stairs. The next there was a deafening boom and blinding light. John was thrown back down the stairs and into the wall. When the ringing in his ears faded, all that was left was static and the crackling of flames.

Immediately, John leapt up the remaining stairs and burst into the burning floor. “ _Finch!_ ” he called, instantly choking on the smoke. He plowed forward anyway, ripping off a section of his shirt to cover his nose and mouth. “ _Finch!_ ” He searched frantically even though the smoke and sweat from the heat stung his eyes. He looked with his heart in his throat, worried that he might see glasses and a pocket square.

He only stopped when the firefighters grabbed him and forced him out, and even then, he resisted. It took three first responders to pull him away, and force an oxygen mask over his face. When they deposited him outside, he staggered to his feet and ripped the mask off.

“Please,” he begged, “You don’t understand, my friend-”

An EMT pushed him back into a sitting position and replaced the mask. “Don’t worry,” she assured him, “If there’s anyone alive up there, they’ll find ‘em.”

After a moment, John nodded and closed his eyes, finally taking a moment to drink in the oxygen he so desperately needed.

When the firefighters emerged from the building, John decided to take matters into his own hands. He flashed his badge at one of the responders. “Detective Stills,” he said, suppressing a cough, “Can I have a look around?”

The responder nodded. “Not much left to look at,” he warned, “Bomber was going for maximum damage, and it worked.” He waved John through, and John returned to the ashy rubble.

There really was little remaining of the offices. The fire had been extinguished, but the air was still thick with fumes. John coughed, but didn’t let it deter him. He scanned the room, eyes sweeping the floor for clues.

And then he saw it. His heart skipped a beat. He crouched, reaching out with trembling fingers, and picked up the familiar square-framed glasses. They’d been abandoned on the floor, and the lenses were cracked. John’s stomach churned. Harold’s glasses were there, Harold must have been in the room when the bomb went off. The explosion had obliterated most of the floor. The odds of Harold surviving…

John swallowed the lump in his throat. He couldn’t bear to finish the thought. In a daze, John slipped the glasses into his jacket lining and stumbled back into the street. The EMTs had already cleared out the remains of the dead. The thought of searching for Harold among them made John want to vomit. After quickly assessing the crowd and concluding the civilians were fine, he just started walking.

He made it several blocks before he realized he’d automatically started going back to the library. It was as good a plan as any. From there, he could see what the news was saying about the blast. They might air something if any of the victims were ID’ed, but John wasn’t sure he could take it.

The rest of the journey was a blur. John’s feet carried him to the library, but in his mind, he was back in the office building before the explosion, as he’d raced to reach Harold in time. He knew he shouldn’t torture himself with what he could have done differently. Harold wouldn’t have approved. Harold would have told him that the past was in the past and all he could do was move forward, but Harold wasn’t there.

Dragging his feet up the stairs, John let himself into the library. He slid the gate aside, and looked with weary eyes towards Harold’s desk.

And all at once, Harold was there, standing by the window. Sooty and haggard, but alive. John blinked. Harold had made it out. John didn’t really care how.

When Harold saw his partner, he sagged. “John,” he said, his voice hoarse. “I’m so sorry for not reaching you sooner.”

John swallowed. “What-”

“My phone,” he started to explain, “I lost it and my glasses when I crawled to the fire escape. It must have melted. The fire forced me to ground level and they wouldn’t let civilians in the building, so I came back here, hoping that you’d get the idea to do the same…”

Harold started to ramble. He limped back to his desk, and John felt his heart skip a beat- his traitorous heart that had let him become so attached.

“Mr. Reese?” he heard Harold say, “Are you all right?”

The room started to swim. John could barely speak for the lump in his throat. “I… I thought I lost you,” he managed.

Harold pursed his lips. “I’m sorry… Extenuating circumstances prevented me from contacting you.”

Harold rubbed his bare eyes. John realized he’d returned to the library without them, the world a colorful blur. Absentmindedly, John placed his hand over his heart, and the pocket where the glasses were safely tucked away. Trembling again, he pulled them out. “We have to get you new glasses,” he said.

Harold chuckled softly. “We’ll have to get you a new shirt.”

John glanced down at the tattered edge of his suit. “Oh.”

“We can’t have you running around saving people looking like a vagrant- Oh!”

He was cut off by John crashing into him and burying his head in Harold’s shoulder. John lost all composure. His shoulders were shaking, and he clung to Harold with everything he had, Harold’s lapels crumpled in his fists.

“John?” Harold murmured, startled.

“I can’t lose you,” came John’s strangled reply, his voice thick with emotion, “I have lost everything, I can lose _everything_ , but I _can’t_ lose _you_.”

It unnerved Harold to see John so vulnerable, especially to see John so emotional over him. Hesitantly, Harold put his hand on John’s back and wrapped the other around the back of John’s neck, holding him closer. “It’s all right,” he whispered soothingly, “I’m here, I’m right here.”

John shuddered. “I know,” he sighed, “I know.”

Neither of them moved to pull away for a long time. John clung to Harold as his shaking subsided, and Harold continued to hold him up, shushing him quietly.

When John finally pulled back without letting go, he was blushing. Harold found it almost endearing to see his normally stoic partner looking so bashful. Without thinking, Harold placed his hand on John’s cheek to comfort him and wipe away a single tear that had escaped. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered, “I never meant to make you worry.”

John’s watery eyes held Harold’s gaze. The space between them felt even closer with John watching him so intently.

Harold felt his heart stumble. “I promise,” he continued, “I will never scare you so badly again.”

John cleared his throat, finally letting go and stepping back. “You’d better not,” he intoned darkly. Harold couldn’t tell if he was joking or not, but Harold hadn’t been joking either.

It seemed like John didn’t know where to look. He looked down at the floor, then out the window, then over Harold’s shoulder at the bulletin board, but not at Harold.

Harold finally let his hand drop to his side. He suddenly felt weary again. The temporary warmth John’s closeness had afforded him slipped away, and the ache in his bones intensified.

“We’ve both had a very long day,” Harold sighed, “You should go home and get some rest.”

John nodded, looking like he could collapse at any moment. He moved to leave, but paused when he got to the door, one hand on the wall. “I’m sorry about the number,” he said over his shoulder, “but… I’m glad you’re safe.”

“Likewise,” Harold said. The silence that followed hung heavy in the air, until John exited, and Harold sank into his chair.

They’d both survived, and Harold was grateful. But deep down, he sensed that something had shifted, and he wondered if they could ever go back.

**Author's Note:**

> So this story is full of holes. I just couldn't think of any other way to get John to believe Harold was gone. I hope you understand why I needed John to believe that, and it's not because I'm just a glutton for suffering. Now I know John isn't normally one to jump to conclusions or give up so easily, but we all know that certain feelings make people think irrational thoughts and do irrational things... ;)


End file.
